72
by Dementedjen
Summary: A guessing game leads to unexpected confessions between the brothers. Nongraphic Slash Wincest


TITLE: "72"

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Schmoop

Word Count: Around 1500

Summary: A guessing game leads to unexpected confessions

Notes: Hmm. I don't know why I got back into the kick of writing. But college and my smut reading obligations keeps me from writing full blown out epics of historic proportions. So this will have to do.

Disclaimer: Supernatural + Me + copyrights empty set

72

It was 3:30 in the morning and Sam was fast asleep. For the first time in what seemed like years, his Sammy was getting a decent night's rest. So far no nightmares had encroached on him and his well deserved slumber. Not to say that they may not still attack before day break. But so far.. the night was calm.

Dean watched his sleeping brother. Under the cover of darkness was the only time he could watch his Sammy the way he yearned to in the sunlight. In the darkness Dean could watch his brother and memorize his features, his hair, everything about him. Because Dean wanted to know everything about his Sammy. Because Sammy was just that...his.

It was 3:30 in the morning and Dean was guarding his brother.

----------

The following night was not as calm as the previous. At 2:14 in the morning Sam was thrashing around his bed, tangling himself within the covers. Dean had known the moment the nightmare had begun. Dean knew every nuance of his Sammy's sleeping self and was prepared for the inevitable sleepless night.

At 2:10 in the morning, Dean slipped into his Sammy's bed, ready to release him from his nightmare.

----------

Dean had been in a peculiar mood for most of the previous week and Sam didn't know what to think. His brother, usually so cocksure, was almost meek. For each of the last four towns they had stopped at for the night, he had expected Dean to go to the bar that was assuredly not far away. There is always a bar near the types of hotels he and Dean frequent. But each time Dean had proven him wrong and helped him move stuff into the room and then spent the rest of the evening watching television or helping him with research each time. Sam was worried.

----------

Slightly lowering the newspaper he held, Dean glanced above the newsprint to watch his Sammy. They were in the fifth hotel in as many days and this had become his favorite activity. Sammy watching. He would flip on the television and plop down on a bed and pretend to watch whatever was flickering on the set until Sammy was suitably distracted by whatever he was doing and then Dean's favorite game in the world began.

----------

They were driving through central Nebraska when it began.

"Dean."

Glancing over at Sam, Dean nodded to show that he was listening, never breaking the beat of the song he was pounding along to on the steering wheel.

"Let's play a game."

Dean looked back at Sam with a amused look on his face. "A game you say?"

"It's boring as hell out here." responded a obviously bored Sam. Sam leaned against the passenger side door and rested his crossed arms on the rolled down window. With great show, he then proceeded to lay his head gently down and give a laboringly pitiful sight.

"Dude, I thought you grew out of that AND the need for games when you were 12" a thoroughly amused Dean chuckled.

"Screw yourself, man. If you had to sit here riding shotgun everyday without a damned thing to distract you, you'd be bored stiff too".

Dean looked away uncomfortably. There were way too many pervy thoughts emerging from what his Sammy just said. Oh, he knew that Sam didn't mean it that way. But these days Dean saw Sammy and immediately thought things that would make a whore blush.

----------

Sammy grinned. He loved messing with Dean. Sure, he knew Dean didn't think of him that way but he liked to add a little... flavor, if you will to his conversations with his big brother. Just to spice things up, you understand.

----------

"Okay, fine. What do you want to play"

"YES! Ok. First of all you have to promise that you'll actually play. And if we play 'I Spy', you can't choose the Impala every damned time. That got old about ten years ago."

"Oh, come on! The Impala is a classic, my baby is all I see". Dean threw Sam a thoroughly roguish grin. "So what do you want to play".

"Let's play a guessing game. You choose something and I have to guess what it is. Like, for example, if I said 19, you would have to guess what that 19 stands for. Get it? Okay. I'll go first... Hmm, I think I'll stick with the 19." Sam leaned back with his hands cradling the back of his head, waiting for the guesses.

"Bitch, I know you. This is going to be easy." goaded an amused Dean.

"Let's see, it's not the first time you got drunk. That was when you were 16, because I went and bought the liquor on my 21st, and we got sauced while Dad was out on a hunt. And then you puked all of the second bed so when Dad got back he made us sleep on the floor so he could have the good bed. Thanks by the way. That was a terrific way to celebrate my 21st." Dean threw a grin at his Sammy.

"Shut up man! You're the one that gave me a fifth of tequila and dared me to finish it before Dad got back! I stand by my claim that you were a douche"

Dean grinned at the memory." Okay, my guess... is going to be..." Dean dragged it out for as long as he could "the age you lost your virginity".

"Holy shit, how the fuck did you know that?! I was at college by then, there is absolutely no way you could have known that. You just guessed, asshole".

"Psh, I just know you that well, Sammy my-boy".

"Anyways, now that I'm completely freaked out. It's your turn"

"Okay. 72."

"Okay, I'm so going to get this one. The year your favorite issue of Playboy came out?"

"Are you kidding me?! Whoever was on the cover of Playboy in 1972, would have to be like fifty now! My favorite issue is much, MUCH newer."

"How could you not love the November 1972 issue of Playboy?! It's like the best selling issue EVER. Something like 25 of the population bought that issue! If that's not up there on your wank-list, then which issue is?"

"My favorite issue, is by far the newest issue."

"Newest issue?"

"Yep, February 2007, Tricia Helfer spread. Life doesn't get much better than that." Dean leered at his Sammy.

"Dude, how did I not know this issue existed?! Dammit. We are so stopping at the next gas station"

Dean let out a laugh and seemed more like his old self than he had in days. Sam grinned back.

"Back to the 72 thing..."

----------

"How many girlfriends you've had?"

"No."

"How many months it took you to convince Dad to give you the Impala?"

"Nope."

"Number of stitches you've had?"

"God no. Maybe the number of stitches I've had before 18. Guess again."

"Most number of days you've spent in one location?"

"Nope."

"DAMMIT!"

----------

"Total shots you've had?"

Dean sighed and glanced back at his Sammy and shook his head. Sam cursed and looked back into the trunk to grab their bags. He could almost see the wheels turning in that shaggy head. Dean picked up his bag and went ahead and headed to their room, key in hand.

Dean watched from just inside the standard motel room as Sam hauled his bag and laptop into the room and dumped them onto the bed. Sam bent down to start looking through his bag, mumbling to himself. "Was it he number of shots you took in a single..." Sam turned around and found Dean almost on top of him."...hunt...?"

Chest to chest, Dean slowly pushed his Sammy back against the still open door.

Talking softly, as if to a skittish colt Dean murmured into his Sammy's ear.

"Do you give up?"

Sam started to shake. A vibration that seemed to originate from his core. His gaze fixed on where his hand met Dean's chest, he slowly nodded his head.

"Do you really want to know?"

Sam looked up through his eyelashes, driving Dean nearly mad. A nod.

"72 is the number of times I drove to Stanford and got as far as your door before I stopped myself. 72 is the number of times I had to stop myself from dragging you home. 72 is the number of times I missed you so bad I thought I would die without you. 72 is the number of times that I wanted you so bad I could almost smell your hair near me. 72 is the number of times I almost couldn't stop myself from admitting that I loved you."

Dean's face was meer inches from his Sammy's. Their lips closer than ever before. Sam continued to tremble.

"You...?"

Dean smiled, "Yeah."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Sam continued to look into his Dean's eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Dean's gentle smile grew wider, "Good."

Foreheads now touching, they both smiled.

Things were as they should be.


End file.
